


Heathers

by jackiestolz



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Inspired by a Movie, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1997451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiestolz/pseuds/jackiestolz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ian Hecox is in the most popular clique in school, and Anthony is the homicidal new kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the 80's classic Heathers. Don't worry if you haven't seen it. Thank you for reading, comments and con-crit welcome!

Heathers

 

_Dear Diary,_

_Heather told me she teaches people "real life."_

_She said, real life sucks losers dry._

_You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly._

_I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly?_

_She said, yes._

_I said, you're beautiful._

 

. . .

Life at Westerburg high was an odd one for Ian Hecox. He was semi-adopted by the most popular girls in school, a trio of scheming rich bitches all named Heather. They saw a regular guy in the halls, thought he was handsome with his bit of scruff, gorgeous blue eyes, and lean physique, and made the decision to welcome him to their world, to the world of teen royalty. And that was when everything went downhill. Spring, 1988.

Ian was just finished writing in his journal when two Heathers approached him. He stood up from the bottom stair where he was sitting and smiled at them.

“Heather wants you in the caff.” Said Heather D. She was a short brunette, always wearing thick make-up and a bored sort of look. When she wasn’t terrorizing the masses, she had her nose stuck in a book, Moby Dick this month, her own personal escapism from the dreary life of a shit side-kick.

“Sounds Urgent.” Said Heather M. Speaking of side-kicks. Heather M was blonde and the tallest of the bunch, constantly wearing her cheerleading uniform and scrunching up her perm.

“Alright, let’s go.” Ian stood and walked with them to the cafeteria, only to see Heather C standing front and center. Another blonde, she always had her hair back in a red scrunchie, and this smug, almost evil look on her face, like she got off on torturing her victims, the student populous of Westerburg High.

“Ian, there you are.” She said, her chin held high by her massive amounts of pride. “I need you to fake a note for me. Have I mentioned how much I love your copy-cat handwriting abilities lately?”

“What do you need?” He answered back with a smile.

“I need a love note for my favorite little loser.” She looked across the caff. “Mari.”

Mari Takahashi was a petite Japanese girl with thick-framed glasses and limp hair. She was quiet and always sat alone.

“I have nothing against her Heather.” Ian sighed, but Heather shot him a dirty look.

“You don’t have shit for her either.” She said, and Ian nodded. “It’s from Kurt, make it steamy.”

Ian composed the note “from Kurt” in his handwriting, then Heather M bounced along in her black and red cheerleader uniform and snuck it onto Mari’s tray.

“We’ll give her some time to discover that, she’s far too focused on her food.” Heather C said with a laugh. “For now, let’s do the lunchtime poll.”

“What’s the question, Heather?” asked Heather D as she looked longingly at the lunch line.

“God damn, Heather, you were with me in study hall when I thought of it.” Heather C snapped at her. “Alright, you win a big money prize of five million dollars. And the day you get the big check, aliens come to Earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do with the money?”

“Okay, let’s go.” Ian picked up his notepad and started to walk across the caff with Heather. While looking around, he saw something life-changing. A kid sat in the corner alone, looking steely and nonchalant. He had dark hair, pale skin, and big brown eyes. He wore a massive leather overcoat hiding his simple plaid shirt and baggy black jeans. With his messy hair and one dangling earring, he was the epitome of bad boy.

“Oof!” Ian heard a noise and stumbled, having accidentally bumped into someone while staring at the new kid.

“Sorry.” Ian said, then turned around and saw who it was. “Oh hey Dan.”

Dan was an old friend of his, back before he was the pop-jock king of school. He was a fine person, but he wasn’t a Heather, so they hadn’t spoken in ages.

“Hey Ian.” Dan replied. “Oh, you’ll never believe what I found the other day.” He dug some pictures of them from seventh grade out of his bag. “Remember this?”

“Oh yeah, that’s amazing.” Ian said, enjoying a moment with his old friend. He’d forgot what hanging out with him was like; he was so light-hearted and relaxed, unlike his new popular gang.

“Come on, Ian.” Heather rolled her eyes and dragged him to the cheerleader’s table. She asked the question and Ian prepared his notepad.

“I’d give it all to the homeless.” Answers Kelly first, and Ian, instead of writing down the answer, got irritated and cheeky.

“You’re beautiful.” Ian said, in a voice of false praise. Heather shot him a look, and he walked away.

“What the hell, Ian.” Queen Heather said, looking downright pissed.

“We always ask the same people, Heath.” Ian said, glancing around. “Let’s ask someone different for a change.”

“Fine.” Heather agreed, knowing when to pick her battles. “But let’s check out your handiwork else where.”

She pointed to Mari, who had discovered the fake letter and unfolded it, and was now reading it with a merry smile. Heathers two and three approached, looking devilishly happy. Ian felt miserable as he watched Mari approach Kurt, the asshole jock from whom the love note was supposedly from, and even worse when he laughed in her face, and the rest of his table joined in.

Ian said nothing, but continued the lunchtime poll with Heather One, who was looking much happier knowing that some of Ian’s charity actually talking to the nerds didn’t cancel out Mari running out of the caff crying.

He was even in a sour mood sneaking into the girl’s bathroom later on, trying to help Heather D throw up (and ignoring Heather C’s jab that “bulimia is so ’87, Heather”). When they went back out to the caff, still not looking too happy, Ian again glanced over at the dark stranger in the corner, only to meet eyes with him. 

“His name’s Anthony.” Heather M said, standing beside her and smoothing out her cheerleader’s uniform. “He’s in my American History.” She gave him a look of wordless encouragement, and Ian approached him slowly. He looked mildly amused seeing the popular kid walk towards him.

“Hello, Anthony.” Ian said. He smiled politely, and Anthony gave him a wry grin.

“Greetings and salutations.” He looked behind Ian to the group of waiting girls. “Are you a Heather?”

“No, I’m an Ian.” He smiled. There was a moment of silence. “I have a stupid question for you.”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” Anthony interrupted, and Ian tried unsuccessfully not to blush.

“You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens the same day aliens come to Earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do with the money?” Ian watched him ponder it thoughtfully before answering.

“That has got to be the stupidest question I have ever heard.” He smiled. From a few tables down, the jerk jocks Kurt and Ram were watching with some amusement. “I don’t know, I think I’d row out into the middle of a lake with a bottle of tequila, my sax, and some Bach.”

The way he spoke was constantly slow and deliberate, and he always looked into Ian’s eyes, his gaze unwavering. His voice was soft and deep, his whole manner wildly attractive. Ian was smitten.

“How very.” He wanted to talk to him more, but he suddenly felt Heather C’s presence by his side.

“Come on, Ian.” She said, clearly annoyed with waiting.

“Later.” Ian said, hiding his disappointment.

“Definitely.” Anthony replied, and Ian turned and left with the Queen B.

As Ian returned to the table they were sitting at, he looked over to Anthony once more, only to find that Kurt and Ram had stood up and walked over to him.

“What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Ohio?” Kurt said to him, leaning over him threateningly. “Hey Ram, doesn’t this cafeteria have a ‘no fags allowed’ rule?”

“Well they seem to have an open door policy for assholes though, don’t they.” Anthony stated calmly as Ian and the Heathers looked on.

“What did you say, dick head?” Ram said loudly, rearing for a fight, but Anthony just stood up calmly. 

“Allow me to repeat myself.” And then, unexpectedly, he pulled a massive handgun from within his large coat, and fired two shots.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this isn't a filler but it comes close to one. the next one's all dramatic.

“God, they’re not gonna expel him!” Heather M exclaimed with a grin, looking amused by the whole thing. They were in Ian’s backyard, playing crochet as always. Heather C was red as usual, with the lesser Heathers on yellow and green, and Ian on blue.

“He used a real gun, they should throw his ass in jail.” Heather C said, scandalized, but Ian smiled behind her.

“No way, he used blanks.” Ian replied. “All Anthony did was ruin two pairs of pants.”

The crony Heathers laughed while Heather C looked unimpressed. 

“You seem pretty amused.” She said, a bit snotty. “I thought you’d given up on high school guys.”

“Never say never.” Ian said, as Heather’s red croquet ball bumped into Heather Duke’s green one. 

“Are you gonna bump me out?” Asked Heather Duke, dressed all in green standing next to her cheerleader friend.

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?” Queen Heather walked over to her. “First you ask to be red. I’m always red. Now this?”

Heather bounced the green ball out into the bushes, a satisfied look on her face as Duke had to run into the garden to get it.

“It’s your turn, Heather.” Heather C called out as Duke got her hair tangled up in a branch. She looked simply amused by her friend’s misfortune. 

“So are you guys doing anything tonight?” Heather M asked, and Ian nodded.

“I’m taking Ian to his first Remington College party.” Heather C said. “Don’t blow it, Ian, or it’ll be keggers with kids for the rest of senior year.”

Behind her, Heather Duke nailed the seemingly impossible shot, and Ian smiled. It was just like her to beat the odds. Heather C nodded respectfully and took her turn, hitting Duke’s ball yet again.

“Why?” She asked with a groan.

“Why not?” Queen Heather responded with a smile.

“Heather, your mother’s here!” Ian’s mother called, coming out into the yard with a plate of pâté, Ian’s father trailing behind. The Heathers waved goodbye and left, and Ian sat down at the patio table with his parents.

“So how was Spring Break withdrawal?” Ian’s dad asked him, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay.” Ian answered. His mother smiled.

“Any chances you’ll get a date at some point?” She teased, but Ian looked thoughtful.

“There may be a dark horse in the running.” He said, thinking of Anthony.

“God damn will someone tell me why I read these dumb spy novels.” Ian’s father said, not really listening as he read.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Ian said semi-fondly. “Great pâté, but I gotta motor if I wanna be ready for that party tonight.”

 

. . .

 

Ian got ready for the party and Queen Heather picked him up in her pricey red convertible, with a slinky red dress to match. Ian was dressed simply, in grey trousers with a lighter grey shirt and black suspenders. Before they went to the party, they stopped at a convenience store, and when Ian ran in to get Heather some corn nuts, he saw a familiar face.

“Getting some 50 cent coffee with that?” Anthony said, approaching him, and Ian smiled.

“No, but if you’re nice I’ll let you buy me a slushy. I see you know your convenience-speak.”

“Yeah well, I’ve been moved around all my life.” Anthony said. “Dallas, Miami, Vegas, now Ohio, but there’s always been a Snappy Snack Shack where I could pop a ham and cheese in the microwave or feast on a turbo dog. Keeps me sane.”

“That thing you pulled in the caff today was pretty severe.” Ian said.

“The extreme always makes an impression. So, what flavor?”

“Cherry.” Ian answered with a little blush.

They payed for the corn nuts and bright red drink and exited the convenience store, where Heather was still waiting in her car.

“Nice bike.” Ian said as Anthony climbed onto his motorcycle.

“Thanks. It’s a perk from my dad’s job. He’s the head of a big construction company.” Anthony lit a cigarette. 

“Must be tough moving around so much.” Ian said, and Anthony blew smoke out his nose.

“Yeah, but everyone’s life has static. I mean, is your life perfect?”

“Yeah,” He said, with a false air of superiority. “I’m on my way to a college party right now.”

Heather honked her car horn just then from the other side of the parking lot, looking impatient. Ian sighed.

“No, my life’s not perfect. I don’t really like my friends.”

Anthony nodded. “I don’t really like your friends either.”

“It’s just like. . . they’re people we work with, and our job is being popular and shit.” Ian gave a nervous giggle. He had never been comfortable enough to admit that to someone.

“Maybe it’s time to take a vacation.”

Heather honked her horn again, so they wordlessly waved goodbye to each other and parted ways.

 

. . .

 

Ian and Heather drove to the college party in silence. When they got there, the whole place smelled like cigarettes and boozy vomit. Some college jackass wouldn’t stop leering over Ian, and Heather wasn’t even around to make him back off, because she’d run off to blow some jerk. To add more shit to the pile, Ian had drank a beer that didn’t even taste good, and now he was sitting at a party feeling ill. He’d finally told the leering guy to shove it when he found Heather in the hall as he leaned against a wall trying to fight off nausea. 

“What is your damage, Ian?” Heather asked him as soon as she approached. “That guy said you’re being really weird.”

“Can we please leave?” Ian asked, hearing the desperation in his voice.

“No!” Heather looked pissed. “I want to party.”

“I feel really sick, Heath-” And then Ian stooped down and threw up all over Heather’s shiny red shoes. Seeing the anger on her face, and feeling mortified, Ian ran out, only to have her follow him out the door.

“You stupid fuck!” Heather called out to him, and he rounded on her.

“You goddamn bitch!” He spat back.

“You were nothing before me.” Heather said, scandalized. “You were playing Barbies with Dan Howell. You were a bluebird. You were a brownie. You were a girl scout cookie. I got you into a Remington party. And what’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet. I got paid in puke!”

“Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.” Was Ian’s simple reply.

“Monday morning, you're history. I'll tell everyone about tonight. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg's going to let you play their reindeer games.” Heather smiled, and walked back to her car, leaving Ian to walk home alone.

 

. . .

 

_Dear Diary, I want to kill and you have to believe_

_it's for more than selfish reasons. You have to believe me._

_Christ, I can't explain it, but I'm allowed an understanding that my_

_parents and these Remington University assholes have chosen to ignore._

_I understand I must stop Heather._

_Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out_

_for a bunch of Swatchdogs and Diet Cokeheads._

_Killing Heather'd be like offing the Wicked Witch of the West._

_Or is it East? West! I sound like a fucking psycho._

_Tomorrow I'll be kissing her aerobicized ass,_

_but tonight let me dream of a world without Heather._

_A world where I am free._

 


End file.
